


an inch or a mile

by redwillawrites



Series: Crossroads [1]
Category: Fast & Furious (Movies), Gone in Sixty Seconds (2000), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Always Female Dean Winchester, Bisexual Brian O'Conner, Brianna O'Conner is a Winchester, F/F, F/M, Female Brian O'Conner, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Not a Cop Brian O'Conner, Twins Deanna and Brianna
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 12:02:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24969382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redwillawrites/pseuds/redwillawrites
Summary: Brianna Winchester-Raines is an excellent car thief and a better con-artist and her current vehicle has about one fifth of a hunter’s arsenal in the trunk under a false bottom, all of it unregistered.But nope, they get her for the credit card fraud, and she’s marched out of lockup and into an interrogation room and given an offer.
Relationships: Brian O'Conner/Dominic Toretto, Brian O'Conner/Letty Ortiz, Brian O'Conner/Letty Ortiz/Dominic Toretto, Letty Ortiz/Dominic Toretto, Past Brian O'Conner/Kip Raines
Series: Crossroads [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807282
Comments: 13
Kudos: 87





	an inch or a mile

The LAPD get her for the credit card fraud, of all things.

It’s embarrassing.

She’s an excellent car thief and a better con-artist and her current vehicle has about one fifth of a hunter’s arsenal in the trunk under a false bottom all of it unregistered.

But nope, they get her for the credit card fraud and she’s marched out of lockup and into an interrogation room and given an offer.

As it turns out the LAPD-FBI joint taskforce is lacking in gearheads and they need someone who can infiltrate the local street-racing scene and figure out which of the crews are pulling off the string of multi-million-dollar truck heists with tricked out Hondas and precision driving. 

If she can deliver them evidence, something actionable, they’ll clear her record. She’ll be free to go. If she can’t she’s looking at eighteen months inside.

It’s a choice that’s not a choice.

Two years in juvie was plenty and she’s not interested in comparing it to actual prison.

The one blessing is that no one she knows from GRAB is on the taskforce. Probably an oversight on the LAPD’s part, but Bree isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. The detectives working this case think she’s a criminal scumbag but they don’t actually know much about her history.

She’d thought it’d be easy.

The LAPD have her set up with a cover in the form of a fellow scumbag, Harry, who got tapped for receiving stolen parts, and have even picked out her mark for her.

Toretto’s crew is mixed race and female friendly. It’s the only one that is.

Additionally, Dominic Toretto is Tanner’s top suspect.

The only problem is that Toretto’s crew is run more like a family business than a street gang.

Bree’s been at it for four weeks, making nice with the sister, Mia, flirting idly with the girlfriend, Letty, over the phone when she calls in an order. She’s gotten exactly nowhere.

Mia is friendly but she’s a med student and works a job and a half. She’s just busy. Too busy to invite a fair-weather friend to her place or her brother’s garage or out to a race.

Bilkins and Tanner keep getting on her case but they aren’t willing to give her a car and let her get into the racing scene that way.

So, she waits.

She changes oil, patches brakes, and orders parts. And she keeps her second job at the bar because she still needs the money and it doesn’t hurt her cover any. And she waits.

Bree’s getting a little desperate for something to give. She’s not above breaking and entering, but she needs actionable evidence. Something that will get Tanner and Bilkins a warrant and an arrest before she’s in the clear.

Bree sighs heavily and glances at the clock on the wall.

It’s that time again.

“Harry,” she calls. “It’s lunch hour, I’m going over to the Market. You want me to bring you back anything?”

“Mia knows what I like,” Harry says, not looking up from his shipping labels.

“I’m taking the truck,” Bree adds, snatching the keys off the hook under the register and ducking out the back door.

It’s a fifteen-minute walk to the Market, but Bree always drives to maximise her time, and since Harry isn’t actually paying her for her labours except in room and board, he doesn’t complain when she takes the truck instead of her beat-to-shit junker.

She’s a mechanic and a car thief, and her car is ugly as sin. It’s bad advertising if nothing else.

Toretto’s Market and Café is a quaint little place tucked in between the commercial areas and the residential and it pulls all types. There’s a business man out front at one of the tables sipping coffee and reading the paper and an older lady carrying a paper bag filled with California oranges out to her car.

It’s not really Bree’s kind of place. She prefers diners. But during the lunch hour its where you can find Mia Toretto and sometimes Domenic too, if you’re lucky.

Today, Bree is lucky.

She parks Harry’s eyesore of a red pickup and all but skips up to the counter.

The light in the back room is on and when she get’s closer Bree can see Dom is there.

Domenic Toretto is average height but built like a truck. Today he’s wearing a cut-off shirt that shows off his biceps and there’s sweat beading on the back of his clean-shaven head. Bree looks a little, cause she’s only human and Dom’s easy strength, olive skin and dark eyes really rev her motor.

She wouldn’t have minded trying to seduce him for the sake of the job. Too bad he’s got a steamy Latina girlfriend, and too bad Bree likes Letty. A seduction would have made things a lot easier on her end.

Sex always fosters intimacy, and intimacy fosters trust.

Instead she pretends she’s not thinking about it, and chirps: “Hey, Mia.”

“Let me guess,” Mia says, looking up from an anatomy textbook that might actually be thicker than Dom’s biceps. “Tuna on white. No crust.”

“Got it in one.”

Mia rolls her eyes and grabs a pair of food safety gloves.

“I don’t know how you eat this crap. Especially not every day for three weeks straight. I make it. I know it’s shitty.”

“Tuna’s my favourite.”

That’s a lie, but only sort of.

Pastor Jim had made a real shitty tuna spread too. Chowing down on Mia’s efforts bring back fond memories from her childhood. Memories of picnic lunches and shooting at tin cans off the fence with her sister in the field behind the church.

Mia sighs. Longsuffering.

“No crust?”

“No crust,” Bree agrees, leafing through the parts catalogue that someone, maybe even Dom himself, has left out on the counter.

The best-loved pages give her a little potential insight into the what Dom is running under the hood of the cherry red Mazda RX7 that’s parked out front, but don’t do much for her investigation.

Mia puts the plate in front of her.

“Thanks,” Bree says. “Can I get Harry’s usual too? No rush.”

“You got it,” Mia says. “Coffee’s fresh too if you want?”

And actually, that sounds fantastic, despite the heat. Mia’s tuna might be shit, but her coffee is just the way Bree likes it. Strong enough to peel paint. 

“Yes, please!”

Mia laughs.

“You gearheads are all the same,” she says. “One cup of motor oil, coming up.”

“You’re an angel, Mia,” Bree says.

She means it too.

You couldn’t get Bree to ride heard on Toretto’s crew while going to college for love, sex, or money. And if Sammy or Dee had just got out of prison and was off jacking trucks she’d’ve beat either or both of them bloody and thrown them in the trunk of the Impala and driven them to Bobby’s for round two.

In contrast, Mia is warm and patient and focussed. She reminds Bree a little bit of Deanna, back when they were just kids and it became Dee’s job to be mother, father, and sister to her and Sammy.

Dom probably doesn’t deserve her.

Lord knows, Bree didn’t deserve Dee. Probably still doesn’t.

When she lifts her head, Dom is looking at her. Bree doesn’t mean to meet his eyes. He’s just up for another coke, but she does.

He turns away first. Sits back down.

No big deal.

Bree bites her lip on a snort. Yeah, right. That was something. Now if only she could figure out what, she might get somewhere.

Mia serves her the coffee in a mug the size of a bowl and very kindly doesn’t laugh when Bree holds it up to face and just inhales for a minute.

Mia leaves Bree to her coffee and sandwich and parts catalogue and Bree leaves Mia to her studies and everything is peaceful. Until the crew rolls up.

Bree starts a little when she hears the purr of high-performance engines and the squeal of racing tires.

Her lucky day indeed.

The crew are almost never at the Market.

It’s not really their scene, and they stick out like sore thumbs in this neighbourhood with their flashy cars and questionable fashion choices.

The businessman looks a little wary as they climb out and pop the hood of Vince’s car, a pretty blue Nissan that’s at least a little less conspicuous than the others. Vincent Schultz, Bree knows, is Dom’s best friend. He’s handsome, if a bit of a bruiser, and loyal if some of Mia’s comments are any indicator but Bree really doesn’t like the way he talks sometimes.

They’ve run into each other once or twice at Harry’s and the feeling is at least a little mutual.

“Talk to me, Jesse,” he says, immediately. “This ain’t working brother.”

“It’s your fuel map,” says Jesse, like he’s already said it a hundred times. “It’s got a nasty hole. That’s why you’re unloading in third.”

“I told you it was third,” adds Leon.

“Shut up,” says Vince.

“I’ll lengthen the injector pulse another millisecond,” says Jesse. “Just tune the NOS timer and you’ll run nines.”

Jesse, Bree has learned, is the brains of the outfit.

All the crew are good with cars, but Jesse is the kind of good that deserves labels like ‘genius’ and ‘prodigy’. He’s young too. The youngest of the crew at just around the corner from nineteen according to his file.

Bree can feel it as soon as the team realize she’s here.

Suddenly she’s got four sets of eyes on the back of her neck and it makes her skin tingle. She wonders iif they know she can hear them.

“Well look who it is,” says Leon.

“Bee-oo-ti-ful,” says Jesse.

“She got a haircut.”

“What’s up with this, chick, huh? Is she sandwich crazy?” grumbles Vince.

“Nah,” smirks Letty. “I don’t think so.”

“She’s tryin’ to get in Letty’s pants, dog,” Leon adds, in case Vince missed it.

Shit disturber.

“But Letty is Dom’s girl,” Vince complains.

Lucky for Vince, Letty is far enough ahead that she doesn’t catch that comment. Not that Bree would mind seeing her take Vince down a few pegs, but she doesn’t want to get pegged as trouble.

Still, Bree lets her eyes follow Letty.

Letty isn’t willowy like Bree and Mia. She’s short and compact, and wears the most hideous platform boots Bree has ever seen. But, like Dom, she’s all tanned skin, dark eyes and easy confidence. Today she’s wearing a tank top with a hem that sits well above her navel and her cargo shorts are riding low, and Bree gets to admire the cut of her obliques and the curve of her spine right before it meets her ass.

“Hey guys,” Mia greets them.

“Hey Mia.”

“How you livin’ girl?”

“I’m good, you guys want lunch?”

“Chips!” says Jesse.

“Vince, can I get you anything?”

“You look good Mia,” he says.

“Thanks V,” says Mia. “But are you gonna get lunch?”

“Uh, no, I’m good,” he says. “Thanks Mia.”

Letty rolls her eyes. 

“I’m gonna get a drink,” says Letty. “Dom? Hey, Dom!”

Dom looks up.

“You want something to drink?”

Dom raises the fresh can of coke but doesn’t say anything else.

Letty looks pissed for a half second. But then she turns her dark gaze on Bree.

“Ooh, I love this part,” says Leon in a stage-whisper.

“What about you, Blondie? You want something?”

Bree is surprised for a half-second, but then she smirks.

“What I want probably isn’t on the menu,” she says.

Dom’s head lifts up at that and he darts a glance between her and Letty that Bree catches out of the corner of her eye.

“You never know,” says Letty in a voice like black velvet. “Toretto’s has good variety.”

And now they really have Dom’s attention.

Bree wonders if he’s as affected by Letty’s offer as she is.

“Letty,” Vince complains, breaking the spell. “C’mon.”

“Do I keep you from getting laid?” Letty snaps.

At that, Dom gets up from the backroom and pretends like he hasn’t been paying attention.

“Who’s getting laid?” he asks, laying a hand on Letty’s hip, and meeting Bree’s eyes over the top of her head.

“Not fuckin’ Vince,” grumbles Letty, moving Dom’s hand to settle a little lower on her belly and leaning into his bulk.

“That right?” Dom chuckles. “Who’s this?” he adds, nodding at Bree.

“Brianna Raines,” she says, since that’s what it still says on her driver’s license.

There’s no flicker of recognition at the name, but then again, the Raines’ had their heyday before Dom had more than a speeding ticket on his record.

They’re old news, except in certain parts of Long Beach.

“You’re Harry’s new girl, right?”

“Yeah, I’ve been working there for a few weeks now,” says Bree.

Her heart is thudding in her chest. This is it. This is her in.

“You seen the fruits of your labours yet?” he asks.

“You mean a race?” she says, playing dumb-blond, just a little, just enough. “Naw, man, that shit is invite only.”

“Consider this an invite.”

“Aw, Dom, really?” Vince bitches. “This barbie?”

Bree would really like to wipe the floor with Vince’s face, and something of that must show in her expression, ‘cause Dom reaches out and cuffs Vince on the back of the head, and says: “I see now why you’re not getting laid. No manners.”

“You got a phone?” asks Letty, rolling her eyes.

“Hell yeah,” says Bree, deciding that grinning at Letty is more important then watching Dom give Vince a dressing down.

Bree hands over her other, other, other burner phone, the one she got from Tanner especially for this gig, and catches her lower lip between her teeth as Letty punches in her number and sends herself a text.

“We’re racing tonight,” she says. “I’ll text you when we’ve got an address.”

“Sounds like a date,” says Bree.

“Wear something slutty,” says Letty.

“Bree,” Mia interrupts. “It’s past one. Harry’s sandwich is getting warm.”

“Right,” says Bree, running a hand through her hair, and offering Mia a rueful smile as she accepts the bag she’s handed and downs the rest of her coffee. “Thanks Mia.”

Bree pulls her wallet out of her back pocket and throws a few bills on the counter.

“Keep the change.”

“See you tomorrow?”

“For sure.”

Bree stands, even in converse she towers over Letty and can look Dom in the eye. She offers each of them a flirty grin and bounces out of the Market.

She hopes they’re watching her ass, cause she’s wearing cut-offs and it looks fantastic if she does say so herself, but even if they aren’t, she’s calling it a win.

Finally, finally, she’s in.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically just the incredibly niche fanfiction that I've always wanted to read and am only just getting the vibe to write. Comments are love.


End file.
